


i can't escape from him (i never will)

by wearethenorth



Series: once upon another time [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, and not romantic, in which Catelyn is accidentally Raoul, this is supposed to be really creepy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 04:11:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2053086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearethenorth/pseuds/wearethenorth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“There is no Fantôme de l'opéra,” Cat tells her after a performance as she brushes a comb through Lyanna’s curls.</p><p>“Of course not,” she replies.</p><p>Yet she hears the music in her head.</p><p>Hears his voice, and she knows the truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i can't escape from him (i never will)

Robert sends her roses again, despite her warning.

That night he is found dead in the rafters of _l'Opéra Westeros_.

After that, Lyanna retreats into herself once more, and the managers blame it on a broken heart. No one seems to guess she never loved Robert in return.

“An accident,” they assure her. These things happen after all, and being chief of the flies is a dangerous job. Yet, when they think she can’t hear them, the _corps de ballet_ whisper of a shadow lurking in the night.

“There is no _Fantôme de l'opéra_ ,” Cat tells her after a performance as she brushes a comb through Lyanna’s curls.

“Of course not,” she replies.

Yet she hears the music in her head.

Hears _his_ voice, and she knows the truth.

As the _première danseuse_ since Elia Martell’s tragic accident—not an accident at all, but Lyanna was never able to prove Cersei’s guilt—M. Rhaella expects her to put more time into her practice than the other girls, and so no one bats a lash when Lyanna picks up her toe shoes and leaves as they prepare for bed.

“One day, _he’ll_ catch her,” Lysa whispers to her sister, who merely shushes her with a roll of her eyes.

Some nights, they hear music drift through the hallways, and they suppose she’s talked Domeric Bolton into playing for her once more.

The singing only starts when _l'Opéra_ is silent with sleep, and Lyanna returns to the common room a little worse for wear each time.

Cat’s the only one who sees fatigue in her features when they wake for their morning rehearsal, the weariness of her movements.

“Tired?” She asks playfully.

Lyanna doesn’t even deign her with a smile.

Months pass, and Cat begins to despair for her friend. Lyanna’s days are spent dragging herself through her routine, and her nights are spent in the cold confines of the ballet studio.

 _No one suspects a thing_ , Lyanna thinks as she faces the mirror. She can detect movement behind the sheer tint of the glass, so imperceptible she could’ve only noticed if she were looking for it. _No one suspects_ him.

The glass swings forward like a door, and a hand reaches out, beckoning her forward.

She doesn’t hesitate to grasp it. She neither greets him directly nor shies away from his touch. She’s too far into this for that now.

 _Past the point of no return_ , his angelic voice reminds her as he brings her knuckles to his lips—half of which are obscured by his porcelain mask—as if he can hear where her thoughts turn to.

 _He’ll take me away tonight. This is the last time I’ll stand here in the opera house,_ she realizes as he hesitates in the doorway.

(It seems as if he’s giving her a chance to leave, to go away from him and never return, but she knows in her heart of hearts that he’d never allow that to happen.)

She tells herself that’s the reason why she squeezes his gloved fingers lightly and places a chaste kiss on the masked corner of his lips.

_We’re past the point of no return._


End file.
